The Romantic Monk

(Herein is exhibited further proof that there really is neither rhyme nor reason to these blog postings.  If you are looking for some master plan or pattern, my advice is to abandon hope now.)

I have often said that the monastic novitiate is a lot like dating.  Not because it might sometimes involve a ’76 Honda Accord with Fleetwood Mac rocking out the cassette player (don’t ask), but because both enterprises are meant to be a protected space for “trying on” the relationship without the pressure of a lifetime commitment. 

There are similarities in the first flower of most every human relationship:  Sometimes the parties click right away and sometimes there is an awkward, pimply “getting to know you” phase; sometimes it feels like kismet and a perfect fit right from the get-go but then life creeps in and the two parties drift apart (a probable sign that at least one of the parties has ceased working very hard at the relationship).  It’s the same deal with becoming a Benedictine.  Monasteries are made up of people, not angels.  We need to get to know one another before—and after—any particular pledge of devotion is made.

Like dating, there is a certain amount of romantic optimism that is associated with the beginnings of monastic vocation.  Just as we can be attracted to the appearance of another person, so we can be drawn to the look of historical monasticism:  the robes and habits, the majestic liturgies, the aesthetic appeal of the buildings, the “smell” of something so solid, enduring and ancient, the sheen of holiness that surrounds the whole package.

As relationships mature, though, the glories of those first enchanting encounters will probably fade or fray a bit.  Donning the habit—whether a literal or a metaphorical one—can become mere habit.  Routine settles in and brings with it a relentless predictability.  Not that the beaten path is necessarily a bad thing; familiarity can breed content as well as contempt.   A reliable rhythm can serve to take the focus off the sauce of external manifestations and place one’s attention on the meat of internal motivation.

Still in all, there are times when a re-kindling of the romance can be a darned welcome thing.  When we go to prayer and find ourselves muttering, “What?!! Psalm 51, again??” or when a Sister steps on our last nerve in the dish room or a Brother pulls out that joke you’ve heard him tell at least fifteen times, it is then that memories of our first breathless encounter with monasticism help us to recall why we wanted the relationship in the first place.  An old spark fanned to flame re-warms us for the hard work of daily togetherness and can lead us out of discouraging doldrums.

That is one of the benefits of heightened occasions like our annual community retreat.  Putting faces to voices for the first time is always exciting. An almost chemical reaction takes place among us—like atoms bonding together to make something wonderful and new and stronger than the individual particles could ever hope to be.  The sensory impact of praying with the other more established Benedictine communities in this locale is undeniable:  the seeming effortlessness of trained voices chanting in harmony with one another, the habits, the incense, the accoutrement of the contemplative life…  It’s as if we are at summer camp for grown-ups, except that rather than canoeing on Lake Granada, we are swimming in the stream of centuries of monastic tradition.  It is invigorating.  It should encourage us to strive for greater fidelity to our Benedictine identity.  It should not, however, become idealized to the point that it is an idol.

I have lived in and worked around Benedictine monasteries for the majority of my adult years.  In that time I have witnessed some of the best of what the life can make of persons.  And I have seen what it can become when the relationship is at its worst.[i]

The best in monasticism, as in any Christian walk, has its origin in whatever clings to Christ.  This past Sunday’s Gospel (Matt 6:24-34) admonished us believers to put our trust wholly and solely in God.  We ought not to get so caught up in the provisions that we forget the Provider; rather, we must “strive first for the reign of God and God’s righteousness” and leave the rest to the One who is ever merciful, ever faithful, ever loving.  We are called to absolute fidelity in this relationship.  No other attraction—no matter how good or beautiful—should distract us from The Main Thing.  As John Wesley so strikingly proclaims in his commentary on Matthew’s passage, “whosoever seeks this first, will soon come to seek this only.”[ii]  

When we prefer nothing whatever to Christ (72.11), then we are the truest of whom we were created to be.  That is why a woman or man can be a “real” Benedictine with or without a bricks and mortar cloister or a habit or any other of the external symbols of monasticism that have developed over the centuries.  It’s not about the edifice of the institution; it’s about the sanctification of the soul.

Saint Benedict did a fine job of mapping a Gospel path.  Let us never forget, though, that it is Christ himself who is the Way, the Truth and the Life.  Love being Benedictine, my Sisters and Brothers, but be in love with the Lord.

Grace be with you,

+Mary

IOGD

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[i] As to the latter, I will hold to Benedict’s counsel, “It is better to keep silent than to speak of all these and their disgraceful way of life.” (RB 1.12)

[ii] Notes, Matt 6:33.

“Hello! Church of Christ. Jesus speaking…”

(You can’t tell from this photo, but the message on the LED screen of my telephone reads “Missed Call.”  There’s a sermon illustration waiting to happen.)

The experience of trying (emphasis on “trying”) to write this week’s blog entry provided an ample sample of irony for me.  I labored and sweated and fretted over the topic I’d originally chosen.   It was not a bad topic—a fairly important one, actually—but it just wasn’t coming together.  The pieces were there but the blend was not—kind of like baking a quite nice chocolate cake then topping it with broccoli frosting:  it might look good but no one would swallow it.  So back to the drawing board (or mixing bowl) I went.

The irony is that these blog reflections are intended to focus on the Rule of Saint Benedict …you know…that little document that starts with the word “Listen.”  Only I wasn’t.  Yes, I asked God to bless the work before I began writing (cf. RB Prol 4).  But I did not bother to ask what God might want me to write.  As that Kaiser of Klutziness, Homer Simpson, would so eloquently opine at such moments, “Doh!” 

Why was I attempting to do this web-ish work in a way that was different from all my other service in the community?  Why didn’t I stop to listen for the Lord’s guidance on what I should write?  And the question presses itself (pass the Bactine, please, ‘cause this one’s really gonna hurt):  How often do I act without prayerful listening in other matters concerning the monastery?

This month’s ongoing formation gatherings have focused on RB 3:  “Summoning the Community for Counsel.”  As we discovered, genuine Benedictine counsel is a matter of neither

·         courtesy (despite that it is a most amiable companion to Charity);

·         consensus (too often the lowest common denominator in the spectrum of decision making options);

·         “buy in” (a chipper little nom de plume for “manipulation,” brought to us by the world of business); nor

·         brainstorming (as valuable as that might be in other places and settings).

No, Benedict’s rational for summoning the Sisters and Brothers is unequivocal:  because “the Lord often reveals what is better to the younger.” (3.3)  The Lord will speak through whom he wills; we cannot predict who that person might be in any given discussion.  Taking counsel is a spiritual discipline and ought to be approached as such.  Practical outcomes are not exactly beside the point but if they are not attained in a way that is consonant with the values of the monastery, then they might well be to the detriment of the monastery.  Method matters.  To ignore the spirit is to numb the soul.  

Furthermore, we are not asked to be original, innovative, creative, insightful or astute in our decisions; we are asked only to follow.   Those other qualities might well attend our decisions, but they are not our goal.  Our goal is to be faithful to the One who is our Head, our Heart, our Home. The Word of God is trustworthy and true; he intends for us only goodness and life.  Why, then, would we not long with every fiber of our ever-lovin’ being to hear his voice, to trust his voice, to rejoice in his voice and to do only his will of Love?

Here’s the thing:  God gave us these rather silly looking ears stuck on either side of our heads—neither as impressive as a mule’s nor as elegant as a cat’s—so that we could aim them at the brothers and sisters who walk beside us on this earthly path.  Not all of us are gifted with the sound of angels whispering to our spirit but we can all attune ourselves to the voice of God spoken by flesh to flesh.  We can get to the point of recognizing a true word of God in the midst of so much other racket.  Really we can.  We do it the same way that an artist gets to Carnegie Hall:  Practice!  Practice!  Practice! every, every, every day.

Let’s be honest… the consequences of our failure to listen in “small” matters don’t seem that dire.  If we choose not to answer an email from a sister or brother or if we allow our attention to wander during a formation gathering, nobody dies and things don’t usually come to a grinding halt.

But what happens to the integrity of our Benedictine life when we only sometimes make the effort to listen?  Well, for starters, consultations stops (RB 3); obedience, by definition, becomes impossible (5); the quality of prayer suffers (19); guests are left out in the cold because no one hears their cry (66); and opportunities for forgiveness are missed (71), just to name a few.  (Is there any of that Bactine left?)

We Benedictines believe that obedience is responsive listening—a habit acquired by long and conscientious attention until it becomes second-nature.[i]  So if I am not purposefully practicing listening/responding in my monastic community, this school of the Lord’s service in which I have chosen to enroll, this laboratory of listening, this auditorium of auscultation, then where and when else am I not giving full attentiveness for the voice of the Lord calling, “Follow me”?  …with family? …with friends? …at work? …at church?

Lent is but two short weeks away.  As we begin to think about what practices we will observe during the holy season of repentance, let me suggest that our Lenten discipline might include a daily examination of the ways in which we have or have not listened for our Lord’s leading.  Just don’t forget to start by asking Jesus what he thinks.  Everything goes better when we do.  Trust me on that one.

Grace be with you,

+Mary

IOGD

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[i] “The first step of humility is unhesitating obedience, which comes naturally to those who cherish Christ above all.” (5.1-2)

This Little Light o’ Mine

(A confession:  I am beginning to figure out that approximately 32.975% of my distressing aversion to writing might be attributable to the sin of gluttony.  Take the story of Saints Scholastica and Benedict, for instance—there’s so much doggone material to write about that I had a heck of a time picking just one piece of it.  I mean have you read this stuff?? It is crazy good story telling.  Aargh!  This blog will be the death of me yet.)

Icon of Saints Benedict and Scholastica by Amanda Hunter © 2010

Seriously, have you read the story of Saints Scholastica and Benedict recently?  Take five minutes to do so.  Here’s a link, in case you don’t have your copy of the Dialogues handy: http://www.osb.org/gen/scholastica.html.  Go on now.  I’ll wait here until you come back.

…………………………….

Done?  No, come on, read it.  Really.  It’s short—it will take five minutes max.  You’ll like it.  Trust me.  Here’s the link again:  http://www.osb.org/gen/scholastica.html. 

…………………………….

See?  I told you it was good stuff!  Gregory the Great weaves a nifty little yarn about a family reunion between two venerable old monastic founders, Saint Benedict and his (as legend has it, twin) sister Saint Scholastica.  It’s a good reminder that saints aren’t angels with clipped wings; they were made of regular old dust and ashes, just like us, and have real-life earthly kin, the same as we do.  Every one of them has a “past,” even if they behaved better in theirs than we did in ours.

As helpful as it is to remember their blessed humanity, it is, of course, not the point of the story.  Gregory tells us about this episode in response to the question of whether a holy person “can always carry out their wishes, or at least obtain through prayer whatever they desire?”  The answer is plainly no.  With the notable exception of Jesus—who doesn’t really count because he had the obvious advantage of being fully divine as well as fully human—not even the holiest among us can always get what they want, even if they pray extra, extra hard for it.  This insight ought to be a comfort for us as we bumble through our own prayers, asking for good weather or healing or world peace or a winning lottery ticket (proceeds to be used only for charitable purposes, of course).  Too often either nothing seems to “happen” or the answer is “Nuh-uh.”  As they say, the only prayer that never fails is “Thy will be done.”

Okay, but if that is the one lesson to be learned from the story, then why did Gregory end by talking about love?  When you think about it, Saint Benedict was behaving in a pretty un-Benedict manner here.  Saint Scholastica asked him to extend their annual Jesusfest for a few hours and he said no.  So she prayed her heart out to the Almighty, got the miracle she requested, and what did her brother do?  He got ticked off about it, chastised her and stayed only “unwillingly.”  Is this the same guy who wrote 73 chapters of instructions on how to get better at loving God and one another?? Is it the same guy who started the whole thing by telling us to Listen??  “If today you hear God’s voice, harden not your heart, holy abbot!”  Call me crazy, but if someone prayed for me to stick around and got an immediate monsoon from God to make me do so, I’d like to think that I’d have sense enough to yield to the Message rather than griping about missing curfew. 

Some commentators have suggested that in this instance, “Benedict is, as it were, paralyzed by his faithfulness to the Rule.”[i]  This assertion has the unfortunate implication that the story pits law against love.  One could certainly draw such a conclusion; but again, it hardly fits with the image of a man whose life’s work has been lauded through the centuries for its moderation and grace.  He said himself that the whole purpose of the Rule is not only to “amend faults” but to “safeguard love” (RB Prol 47).  Maybe he just got crabby when it was too far past his bedtime.  He was an old guy by this point, after all.

Mostly I wonder if Benedict wasn’t missing some important clue here.  What was going on with Scholastica in that room?  Did he not pick up on her urgency and wonder what it was all about?  Granted, they lived apart from each other since their youth and only got together once a year at most, but Gregory tells us that they were so close that “their souls had always been one in God.”  Benedict even arranged that the two of them would share the same grave.  Could this man of Vision and of visions not see that his twin would be dead in three days?  After all, Scholastica seems to have known it.

I have only been with a dying person once.  It was an experience I will never forget.  There were moments during my friend’s last days when he shined with a light that I can with absolute certainty say was not an earthly one.  Hospice and hospital chaplains have told me that it’s a common phenomenon, a sign of the holy taking hold.  Our true visage coming to light as the masks drop away, perhaps?  If that other worldly glow is in essence a seeping through of the divine fire which resides in us always, why don’t we see it in one another every day?  If we did, I suspect that we would be a whole lot better at genuinely receiving all as Christ.

If Saint Scholastica was aware that she was nearing the Heart of Love, maybe that is why her love was so much more effective on this occasion.  It’s the power of proximity.  What extravagant things could we accomplish if we, in choosing every day to draw closer to Christ, were able to unleash more of the divine light within us?  Now that would be another great story, wouldn’t it?

            God bless you in Love and loving.  Happy Feast!

            +Mary

            IOGD

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[i]Adalbert de Vogüé commentary on Gregory the Great, The Life of Saint Benedict (NY: Fordham University Press,1993) 160.

Charlton Heston would have made a pretty good Saint Benedict, too

(To the readers:  A Parenthetical Opening; of Mary; in which the writer once again tries to overcome her fear of a blank screen.*)

“Do not aspire to be called holy before you really are, but first be holy that you may more truly be called so.  Live by God’s commandments every day.”  RB 4.62,63

            Saint Brigid of Kildare Monastery has been around for eleven years now—a drop in the eschatological bucket as far as the long stream of Benedictine history is concerned, but still kind of an accomplishment for us.  In that time, one of the topics that has been most challenging for us to learn how to practice is the bugaboo of obedience.  We’re not alone in this struggle just because we are a dispersed community.  If you took a poll of our monastic kin in the more traditional monasteries, many if not most of them would say the same thing about their own lives.

            Why is obedience so tough for us who claim that this kind of selfless listening-responding is the very thing we want?  Can we attribute our interior skirmishes largely to that independent, I’ll-pull-myself-up-by-my-own-bootstraps-thank-you-very-much American side of us which is prone (or determined) to reserve just a little (or a lot) of our own tenacious bent to absolute self-sufficiency?   Is it the legacy of a culture which tends to think of my good before (or even instead of) the common good?  Is it any or all of the countless modern pathologies of personality that are regularly decried in news journals and spiritual periodicals?  How about d) All of the above?

            Well, maybe.  Or maybe not.

            A little browse through scripture and through history will show us that People Is People.  Human beings have always struggled with giving over self-concern in favor of something larger than our own desires—at least ever since we discovered the wonders of commerce.  In the religious context, that goes for our drive toward self-determination, too.

            This month in Brigidland has provided us with several opportunities to reflect together on obedience. 

·         Our novices bravely tackled the topic of obedience head on.  (God bless Kraig, Brenda and Wes for their honest and good natured faith seeking understanding.)

·         The formation topic du jour for the beginners’ groups—that’s us, loved ones; cf. RB 73.8—was the abbess/abbot in the Rule.  (Wrasslin’** with obedience is required whenever the subject of monastic leadership is raised.)

·         And the longer readings in the breviary have been leading us on a trip down memory lane with the post-exilic Hebrews via their Deuteronomic chronicler.  (Have you read that stuff recently?  God had some bloody good reasons for laying down a few shalts and shalt nots.)

Some of us balk more than others at the mention of rules, boundaries or limitations.  No news there.  In addressing this squeamishness, it might help to consider how such guidelines as the Commandments and the Rule of Saint Benedict came about. 

Neither of these texts was overlaid on the life of faith at the outset of the people’s journeys.  The Commandments were given after the Hebrews had been led out of captivity.  They were not a precondition for God’s rescuing them from their oppressors—“Live up to these standards and I might consider saving your hineys from those mean ol’ Egyptians.”  Likewise, Benedict wrote his Rule after years of common, lived experience with his monasteries; he was not drawing a map of unexplored territory.

Okay, but why were these regulae needed, you might ask?  Because even those persons who have chosen to follow God with all of their heart and soul and strength, who have willingly taken the leap of faith and risked everything for God can still lose sight of what they say they want.  The first big challenge to the fidelity of the Hebrew people was idolatry—worshipping the idols of the people whose lands they inhabited. The first big challenge to the fidelity of Benedict’s monks was also idolatry—worshipping the idol of self in the new spiritual landscape that they inhabited. These two tribes were God’s faithful people in name but not always in manner. 

Thus it was and is and ever shall be in every generation.  Even those of us who are most earnest about our spiritual lives are sometimes tempted to want to be thought of as holy—i.e., loving in all our ways—before we’ve truly gotten there.  (It looks great on a résumé.)  So we need help learning how to love God and neighbor and we also need occasional help remembering what we’ve already been taught about loving.  In their essence, the Commandments and the Rule are not punishments for misbehaviors; they are gifts to help us on our way.  They put limitations on the objects of our lesser loves, yes, but only so that we may be opened to Love itself.  That is the sum total of Christian obedience.

If you are reading these words and you are not a sister or brother of Saint Brigid’s, thanks for your interest in obedience.  I pray that God will bless you on your path.  May you be an eager listener and a joyful follower of the Lord.

If you are a member of Saint Brigid’s, don’t tune out just yet.  I have a homework assignment for you.  See below.

Your Homework

            (I assume here that we all have a firm grasp of obedience as response-ready listening, so I won’t rehearse that background.)

When we as a dispersed monastic community talk about obedience, it is easy to stop at considering it in relation to leadership—both how we can express obedience to persons with the task of guiding Saint Brigid’s (RB 5) and how we in our lives apart from community interaction participate in relationships which entail some form of that obedience (family, workplace, church, etc.). 

I would like us to consider for a moment, however, our growth in mutual obedience. (RB 71)  It is difficult to imagine how we can reasonably show our obedience (listening love) to one another if we don’t really know each other very well.

So here is your homework (I’m serious about this request, by the way.  Consider it an exercise in obedience, RB 5-style.):  Sometime in the next week (the clock starts ticking when you read these words), I would like you to reach out to another person in the community—via Facebook, email, phone, carrier pigeon or whatever means you choose.  If you are more comfortable starting with someone you know, that’s just fine.  The point is to be in touch. 

Once you’ve done that, I would be more than delighted if you would take up this initiative as part of your regular monastic practice.  Work your way out with other sisters and brothers—perhaps with the folks in your formation group, perhaps with someone whose name you have heard or seen in our directory but have never had contact.  Knowing our folks as I do, I can promise that you will enjoy the experience.  And in the process, we will become closer to each other as community and closer to Christ, the One in whose name we love.

Grace be with you,

+Mary

IOGD

*An homage to the Psalm headings and a shameless contrivance to help me get a few words onto the screen as kindling.  If you have never paid much attention to these little ditties, they can be pretty intriguing.  One of my favorites belongs to Psalm 60:  “To the leader:  according to the Lily of the Covenant.  A Mik’tam of David; for instruction; when he struggled with Ar’am-nā∙ha∙rā’im and with Ar’am-zō’bah, and when Jō’ab on his return killed twelve thousand Ē’dom-ītes in the Valley of Salt.”  It’s a Hollywood script just waiting to happen, isn’t it?

** wrassle, verb:  to grapple with, consider; often involving emotional, psychological and/or spiritual engagement, if not actual physical blows let forth upon any rogue who dares to challenge our impeccably held notions on whatever it is about which we’re feeling defensive at the moment.  <Southern—to wrestle with.

A little blog for beginners

The Intro

(What follows is my feeble attempt at introducing this blog.  I wish it were more like the Gettysburg Address or some other Memorable Work to last the ages.  But oh well.)

My friend and sister in Christ, Jan, has been nagging—yes, nagging—me for quite a while to start a blog.  She must have more confidence than I have in my ability to crank out useful (or at least readable) reflections on a regular basis, particularly from my perspective as a Methodist Benedictine, a member of Saint Brigid of Kildare Monastery, and one of the multitude of average pew-sitters who try to follow Christ in a world that doesn’t always make that the easiest thing to do.  I’ve usually said that if I were ever to dip a toe into the blogosphere, the site should be called “Kicking and Screaming” — as in that’s the only way I would do it.  Nonetheless, here it is. 
             Starting a blog feels like a bigger deal than it probably is.  There aren’t any qualifications or credentials required.  No standards, no grammatical skills, no humor, wit, wisdom or flimsy raison d’être demanded, either.  My eternal salvation will not hang on its contents…hopefully.  And yet it still feels as if there should be some sort of ribbon cutting or champagne across the bow involved with this launch.  Nothing doing, though.  I will just have to settle for the inestimable relief of finally getting Jan off my back.

My primary hope for this blog is that it will be a space to speak a few words to the sisters and brothers of our monastery about that which we say matters most to us—namely, that we “prefer nothing whatever to Christ.” (RB 72.11)  This format gives more elbow room for nouns, verbs, adjectives and my usual run-on sentences than does Facebook; plus, it will help keep me from cluttering up your email box with “more stuff to read later.”  Consider these postings to be little nudges from one who loves you, saying, “Remember who you are and what you are called.” (RB 2.30a)

Getting Down To It

Today is the Memorial of Saint Antony, desert abba.   A couple of lines from Athanasius’ Life of St. Antony leaned over at Morning Prayer and gave me a little “Pssst!” in the ear:

“Antony felt that this account of the early saints was a divine inspiration and that the words of the Gospel had been directed to him.”

“…he was so attentive at the reading of the Scriptures that he retained everything the writers said, and his memory became his library.”

(Benedictine Daily Prayer, p. 1729)

                We talk a lot in our formation gatherings about the importance of lectio divina—holy reading, sacred pondering, a lively encounter with the Living God.  There isn’t a much better way to sum up its purpose than the example given by Saint Antony.   This kind of prayer goes to the core of what we are about as Benedictines and as believers.  We earnestly desire to hear a word spoken to us, straight to us, to our circumstances, to our abilities, to our needs, to our souls.  Not so that we can be set apart from others as special, but so that we can be truly among others in a way that we are often reluctant to be— in the way of a humble servant, in the Christ-way.

                The two brief lines from our desert father in the faith caused me to stop and think about what volumes reside in my inner scriptorium…and how dusty some of those volumes might be.  They also reminded me that God will speak a word if we prepare the ear of our heart to listen.  
                Take a look at the shelves of your intentional memory.  Are they brimming with texts that inspire? that fill you with hope? that send you running down the path of God's commandments, your heart overflowing with the inexpressible delights of love? (Prol 49)  If not, why not?  As John Wesley once wrote, "Oh begin! ...It is for your life!"  May you be blessed in the holy, happy practice of lectio that is truly divina.

                Grace be with you,

                +Mary